And Blood Doesn't Count
by UsagiLovesDuochan
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes is forced to leave for a case in Germany without John, it is supposed to be just a normal case but it turns out to be far more than both John and Sherlock have bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **And Blood Doesn't Count  
**Part: 1/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Mary Morstan rocks therefore she'll turn up, Happy Ending  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

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Summary: Inspired by the song "Marie" sung by the German shanty/rock band Santiano ** www. youtube DOT com SLASH watch?v=S6D3gyMiZyM**

"Oh, excuse my poor attempts at getting on with life while you were pretending to be dead to the world and to your best friend", John scowled with obvious sarcasm. "Of course, I should have simply sat around those two years and waited for a miracle to happen instead of trying to keep myself occupied with something as ridiculous as the practice."

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed, not getting the point at all.  
_

When Sherlock Holmes is forced to leave for a case in Germany without John, it is supposed to be just a normal case but it turns out to be far more than both John and Sherlock have bargained for.

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Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! In all honesty, you are amazing.

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**Lyrics in German:**

Wir tanzten mit Marie,  
du und ich, du und ich  
wir tanzten mit Marie,  
sie wollte mich.

Doch als das Meer mich rief,  
erreichte mich dein Brief  
das sie des Nachts entschlief,  
teurer Freund, teurer Freund  
das sie des Nachts entschlief,  
mein teurer Freund.

**Refrain:  
**Marie ist meine Braut,  
sie war schön, wunderschön  
Marie ist meine Braut,  
sie war schön.

Marie ist meine Braut,  
du hast sie mir geraubt,  
doch ich hab dich durchschaut,  
teurer Freund, teurer Freund,  
doch ich hab dich durchschaut,  
mein teurer Freund.

Seitdem war ich hier nicht mehr,  
lang ist's her, lang ist's her  
seitdem war ich hier nicht mehr  
lang ist's her.

Beim Landgang heute früh,  
da sah ich doch Marie,  
ganz plötzlich sah ich sie,  
teurer Freund, stell dir vor,  
ganz plötzlich sah ich sie,  
ja stell dir vor.

Refrain

Sie stand vor deinem Haus,  
ganz in weiß, ganz in weiß  
sie stand vor deinem Haus,  
ganz in weiß.

Es war ihr großer Tag,  
sie sah mich und erschrak,  
ich läg in einem Sarg,  
irgendwo, schrieb man ihr,  
ich läg in einem Sarg,  
das schrieb man ihr.

Refrain

Ich las in ihrem Brief,  
Hundert Mal, Hundert Mal,  
ich las in ihrem Brief  
einhundert Mal.

Die Schrift war mir bekannt,  
die Lüge, die dort stand,  
sie war von deiner Hand,  
mein teurer Freund.

Refrain x2

**Song lyrics translation:  
**We danced with Marie,  
you and I, you and I  
we danced with Marie,  
she wanted me.

But when the sea called to me,  
your letter reached me,  
telling that she faded away at night  
dearest friend, dearest friend,  
that she faded away at night,  
my dearest friends

**Refrain:  
**Marie is my bride,  
she was beautiful, gorgeous  
Marie is my bride,  
She was beautiful.

Marie is my bride,  
but you stole her away,  
however, I've seen through you,  
dearest friend, dearest friend,  
however, I've seen through you,  
my dearest friend.

Since then I haven't been here,  
been a long time, been a long time,  
since then I haven't been here,  
been a long time.

At shore leave early today,  
I certainly saw Marie,  
suddenly I saw her,  
dearest friend, imagine that,  
suddenly I saw her,  
yes, imagine that.

Refrain

She stood in front of your house,  
all in white, all in white,  
she stood in front of your house,  
all in white.

It was her great day,  
she saw me and got alarmed,  
I would be lying in a coffin,  
Somewhere, they wrote her,  
I would be lying in a coffin,  
that's what they wrote her.

Refrain

I read her letter  
A hundred times, a hundred times,  
I read her letter,  
one hundred times.

The writing was familiar to me,  
The lie standing there,  
was written by your hand,  
my dearest friend.

Refrain x2

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"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Sherlock."

John Watson was sitting on the edge of the big bed that took up most of the bedroom belonging to his best friend, watching the taller man pack some spare belongings with painstaking precision into a small overnight bag. Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world, did not even deem the comment worthy of looking up from what he was doing.

"Well, if you hadn't been in the unlucky position of being unable to leave your office behind, my dear John, you could have simply come with me, thus resolving the small problem of our separation", he answered coolly, his tone neither sympathetic nor angry. Shaking his head in exasperation, the former army doctor sent a half-hearted glare towards the dark-haired man.

"Oh, excuse me for my poor attempts at getting on with life while you were pretending to be dead to the world and to your best friend", he scowled with obvious sarcasm. "Of course, I should have simply sat around those two years and waited for a miracle to happen instead of trying to keep myself occupied with something as ridiculous as the practice."

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed, not getting the point at all as he finally looked up towards the smaller blond still sitting on the bed. Rolling his eyes, John threw his hands in the air, caving in.

"All right, I give up! This is just lovely. Why the hell did I ever think I missed this again?"

Sherlock couldn't help a small quirk of his lips in response to his friend's antics.

"Don't be overdramatic, John", he reprimanded, though his tone was far gentler than he would have used towards anyone else. "It's just a few days, maybe a week at best, if the case even turns out to be any more challenging than a seven. I rather doubt it, though. The Germans tend to be just as stupid as the people at New Scotland Yard, therefore I wouldn't worry too much."

"But I can't help it, Sherlock", John replied softly now, the bite gone from his voice. "It's been barely a year since you returned from your self-imposed trip to destroy Moriarty's network and only a few weeks since our relationship changed. I know this sounds crazy but something in my gut's not sitting right and the last time that happened I ended up witnessing my best friend jumping from a fucking rooftop, no matter how fake that one turned out to be in the end."

Sherlock, finally finished with his bag, zipped it closed, before setting it in a corner and taking a seat beside the smaller man on the bed. The consulting detective wore a very open expression of frustration and regret on his face as he looked at John, observing the other man's every frown and gesture.

"I AM sorry about not telling you, John", he said more than a little perturbed, "and you know I had no choice there, I've told you so."

"And I've forgiven you long ago, Sherlock", the blond doctor interjected.

"But you cannot allow your feelings to dictate your actions. There are no facts indicating that there is any danger ahead, at least no more than the usual that come with solving crimes. If there was any serious trouble such as we encountered with Moriarty, Mycroft would have known long before now and warned us."

As always, Sherlock grimaced at the mere mention of his brother's name but it was obvious his determination to cheer John up counted for more in his eyes than the reminder of his brother's existence.

John couldn't help a smile when he noticed the sour expression, knowing the consulting detective's thoughts too well. He let out a defeated sigh, daringly leaning sideways until his head rested against the other man's, a gesture Sherlock usually considered with contempt, except on very few, special occasions.

The doctor noticed that he seemed lucky since there was no protest this time. Instead Sherlock was staring out of the window, lost in his thoughts. Still, his arm automatically wound around the smaller man's waist the moment John rested his head against the dark curls of his best friend and current boyfriend.

Sherlock allowed himself some minutes to be lost in his mind palace John sitting by his side, eyes closed and breathing him in. Finally, the consulting detective's eyes focused once more and he gazed at John from the corner of his eyes, his head never moving an inch.

"We have six hours left until I need to leave for my flight", Sherlock told the doctor matter-of-factly. "How about we use the time sensibly?"

Of course, if Sherlock used the word 'sensibly' it immediately made John wary.

"What exactly are you thinking about?" he wanted to know. Sherlock answered his question with a turn of his head, showing John the smirk on his face.

"Why, take me to bed, John Watson", the younger man declared gleefully. The doctor was so surprised by the demand that he started to laugh.

"Why, Sherlock Holmes, who would've thought?" he snickered, before returning the large smirk. "Well, Mr Holmes, it would be my pleasure."

And with those words, both men turned their heads until their lips met in a hungry kiss.

SHxJWxSHxJW

Not even twenty four hours later, John was working at the surgery, already missing Sherlock terribly. Usually, when the consulting detective was not busy with a case, he texted John every three minutes with something ridiculous. The doctor had made it a habit to turn his mobile to mute, though he could never make himself put it away entirely. As a result, he felt its vibration every time the other man sent him a text, even when he was talking to patients.

Thankfully enough, he was well known through his blog. Ever since Sherlock had returned with a bang, his patients had been forewarned. Some of them even turned out to be former clients and all they ever did, when they heard the buzz of the mobile in the doctor's pocket, was give a wry smile and ask in dry fashion.

"Case again, Dr. Watson?"

This, more often than not, John answered with an equally wry smile and a shake of his head.

"Nope, boredom", before he added in a mutter, "At least I hope for his sake that's what it is."

If he was able to, John made certain that he was available during a case. For this reason alone he accepted a fellow doctor into his practice a week after he forgave Sherlock's stunt. The woman now working alongside him was just a bit younger than himself. Her name was Dr. Mary Morstan and she had been working at a clinic in Cardiff before personal matters forced her to move to London. From the beginning she was made aware of John's reason for accepting another doctor - that he needed someone to cover for him in case he was required to be somewhere with Sherlock.

Dr. Morstan turned out to be a big fan of his blog and Sherlock's case-solving. In fact, a week before she was supposed to start in John's practice, she unexpectedly became a client herself, when she started to receive anonymous presents of very big and very authentic pearls along with a small note informing her of a betrayal.

By the end of the case she was a rich woman who never needed to work again if she chose not to. However, John Watson had found a soul mate in her with her urge to help and to be useful, traits which he himself shared. She didn't want to stop working as a doctor and so she became his assistant, taking over patients every time Sherlock burst into the practice or sent a text with details of a new case where he needed John's assistance.

Naturally John was supposed to accompany Sherlock to Germany but this plan was scuppered almost as soon as it had been created by a series of unfortunate events. At that time, their main case was on hold until they could get overseas so Sherlock had accepted another small case from a client to kill time. It was nothing too strenuous for the consulting detective's brain, but it required some legwork, which they both knew John liked.

Unfortunately, what both men did not foresee was the stupidity of one of the suspects in the new case who thought the best solution would be to break into John's practice. Sherlock later declared in a rather vicious rant that he could not fathom what kind of twisted idea had urged the man to think he would find important evidence in his partner's practice of all places, but that was where the man went.

Yet, the timing could not have been worse - at least for the criminal. As he was sneaking in, he failed to notice that both John and Mary were there, sorting through paperwork. ("A greater idiot I've not met", Sherlock venomously declared afterwards. "How did he fail to see the door was not tightly locked?") In the suspect's defence, their rooms within the practice were at the back of the house, so no light could be seen from the street to indicate their presence.

Both parties only realised their failure in noticing the other when Mary nearly stumbled over the man on her way from the kitchen, pot of hot tea in her hand. Unfortunately for the criminal, that was the moment of his second mistake. Thinking Mary was simply a helpless nurse who would serve very well as a hostage, he did not realise she was an army veteran. This was, in fact, one of the reasons she and John had got on so well. In the end, the suspect was taken into custody by the police, howling in fury and pain. His shoulder was still wet from where she had hit him with the scalding hot tea and one of his fingers was broken.

Regrettably for John and Sherlock, in a stroke of bad luck Mary had been hit by her attacker, straining her hand. Thankfully nothing was broken, but the hand was injured enough that John declared she was not allowed to use it for at least four weeks to allow it to heal properly. This, of course, was within the timeline when John was supposed to accompany Sherlock on his trip for Germany.

Mary tried to persuade John to go anyway as she knew how important the trip was to both of them but, as Sherlock grumpily declared, John was far too generous to leave her with an efficiently run practice, unable to perform to full capability. On the other hand, Sherlock was also unable to delay the journey as it was obvious the trail would get cold if he waited too long. In the end, they had to resign themselves to the fact that Sherlock would go alone while John took care of his practice and acted as contact to Scotland Yard, since it was Lestrade's case.

The former army doctor continued to be restless about Sherlock's departure. He couldn't help it, something about the whole case sat wrong with him somehow. He mentioned his worries to Mary as well as Greg, both assuring him that maybe it was just because Sherlock hadn't done anything alone since his return from the dead over a year ago. That would make sense, because John had been furious when Sherlock had suddenly appeared in front of him, not to mention that he had fooled him with one of his many disguises. A simple, laughable disguise, to be honest, one that John would have seen through on any other day but he hadn't been expecting Sherlock to be alive so he had been easily fooled.

Repayment for the consulting detective followed immediately. As they happened to be in his consulting rooms at the practice, John was able to hit Sherlock twice before one of his assistants came in, alarmed by the noise of the fight. She nearly deafened half the practise with her screaming because she thought John was being attacked.

"Why would she think I was attacking you, if there was no blood on you but plenty on me?" Sherlock asked in disbelief, white tissue still stuck to his heavily bleeding nose. John didn't answer the question, but threw him a rather dirty look.

It took him days before he decided to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt over his actions and at least meet him to have an intense talk. Their reunion at Baker Street included a lot of shouting on John's side and a rather cold, furious declaration from Sherlock as he unravelled all the threats Jim Moriarty had thrown at him that fateful day on the rooftop. In the end, they declared a rather shaky truce. John's main condition had been that Sherlock, would never, ever again do anything like that without informing him. That he would never leave the former army doctor behind. If Sherlock wanted John in on cases, it would have to be as a partner, not a lackey only good enough to fetch the mobile phone or as a stooge, forced to make deductions just so Sherlock could tear them apart to his heart's content.

Sherlock agreed easily enough, much to John's surprise. It was only later, when months had gone by, that he realised, mostly through Sherlock's actions and some snippets of what happened during his absence, that the consulting detective must have been missing him nearly as much as John had been missing him. Of course, the younger man never admitted to nor denied that realisation, but his silence spoke volumes.

True to their agreement, after their debate Sherlock had never excluded John again. If they were unable to solve a case together, the consulting detective at least kept John informed by text messages, and he was willing to ask for backup, though only through John, never from Lestrade.

This was the first time Sherlock would be gone from London for a week or so, depending on how fast he was able to find the clues in Germany and solve the case. It was different from before, of course, because nothing was happening behind John's back, and every step was discussed. The former army doctor was being kept up to date nearly every hour by text messages from Sherlock. Most of them declared his utter boredom almost from the moment he stepped onto the plane to Hamburg. However, two messages bore requests for something to be checked with Lestrade: an English driving licence and the description of a middle aged man that Sherlock suspected of being an international criminal who was also wanted in Britain.

This was the message John received two days after Sherlock's departure. He had forwarded Sherlock's inquiries to Greg and met up with him two hours later to retrieve the results. Lestrade had been able to confirm the consulting detective's suspicions and John dutifully forwarded this information back to his flatmate. However, he received no reply after that last text. At first, he tried not to worry too much. Surely Lestrade's confirmation must have been a hot lead, keeping Sherlock busy enough that he was unable to use his mobile? Maybe he was already finished and on his way home, wanting to surprise John after the case turned out to be 'dull, just as expected'.

However, as the third day arrived and neither was there any message from Sherlock, nor the man himself back at Baker Street, John's unease grew and neither Greg nor Mary could deny any longer that this was unusual. Trying to keep himself from thinking too much, John busied himself with his patients in the morning. During his break, he read the paper, keeping up with events in Britain as well as the rest of the world, telling himself he was simply keeping an eye out for interesting cases for after Sherlock's return.

Unfortunately no new, strange cases caught his eye, either here or in Germany. The only noticeable event being reported in that country was the blowing up of an old building in a town in East Germany whose name John could not be bothered to remember. However, nothing pointed to any kind of crime, simply a tragic accident which so far had cost the lives of three people.

Evening came and went. No further news from Sherlock. By now John was desperate enough that he sent a text to Mycroft asking for reassurance. If anyone knew how Sherlock was doing out of the country, it should be the elder Holmes. That he had received no reply was worrying the doctor even more than he was comfortable admitting.

John ended up spending a restless night. He was unable to sleep and the few times his eyes closed from exhaustion, he was awakened again by nightmares he could not even remember. Morning came far too soon and it was with dread that John checked his mobile phone - no new messages there. Of course not, it had been sitting beside his head the whole night. If a text or phone call had arrived, he would never had missed it.

Resigned, he got out of bed, contemplating what he could do to find out how Sherlock was. He was so immersed in his thoughts, that he did not realise there was a figure standing in the doorway to the living room until long after he started making tea in the kitchen.

Blinking, he returned to the living room, uncertain whether he had seen a person or not, but his eyes had not deceived him. Mycroft Holmes was standing in the doorway, silent and with rather the opposite of his usual appearance. John never thought he would see the day when the older Holmes showed anything but aloofness or indifference on his face. He could not have been more mistaken, but the doctor wished with all his might that he had because what he was seeing confirmed his worst fears.

Mycroft looked defeated. His shoulders slumped, his suit looked as if he had worn it for weeks, his hair was unkempt, dark rings decorated his eyes and there was no life left within them. Mycroft was pale and the gaze he directed at John contained a mixture of pity and deep sadness.

One look at that face was all it took for John to know what the man was about to tell him and he could not bear it. Not again. The elder Holmes seemed to know that, because he opened his mouth more quickly than the doctor himself could.

"John... I", was all he was able to utter in a quiet, broken voice before he was interrupted.

"No, no! I don't want to hear it. It's not true. It can't be true. Not again, please God, no!"

John had become louder with each word spoken, his speech more rapid, so that by the end he was obviously in hysterics. Not allowing Mycroft to reply, he turned on his heels and stormed back into the bedroom, the one he and Sherlock had shared since the moment they got together. Blindly he reached for his mobile, in his haste knocking it from the bed. It had nothing to do with the tears in his eyes, or the tremor in his hands, oh no.

Shaking hands grabbed the device from the ground and with trembling fingers he typed a message that seemed to take forever.

PLEASE, TELL ME YOU'RE NOT DEAD!

He hit 'send' rather harder than he needed to and waited five long, agonising minutes. He knew Sherlock, knew their relationship and the agreement they had. His friend, his partner, would never ignore a message as dire as this. Not now, not anymore, no matter what he was doing right then.

Five minutes ticked by. Then ten. There was a hesitant knock on the door. Mycroft. John took one last, desperate look at his phone before throwing it blindly across the room. He buried his face in his hands with a sob.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry I only noticed now that the link to the video from Santiano didn't work. It's been a while since I last posted on , I totally forgot about the misery with the links. I added the address now. Just exchange my "DOT" and "SLASH" with the real things and you watch out for the space and you should be just fine. Otherwise you can always try to search the video for yourself on youtube by using "Santiano - Marie" you should find something. Thanks to everyone who took a look into the first chapter. I do hope you'll like the second one.

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Title: **And Blood Doesn**'**t Count  
**Part: 2/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy Ending  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

**Summary:** A loss that could not have been only a year to recuperate since the last time Sherlock was ripped from him, John is now facing a repeat of this loss. Yet, just as he thinks it couldn't get any worse, his sister shows up with a warning.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And as always, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors!

* * *

"I'm sorry, John, for keeping you in the dark for a whole day, but I'm sure you understand I wanted to be certain myself before I came to you with such news", Mycroft Holmes explained, voice quiet and lifeless, simply stating facts in a monotone. He sat at the kitchen table with John, both nursing a cup of cold tea in their hands, both looking pale and exhausted.

_No_, John thought, as he glanced quickly over to the elder Holmes. Even though his face by now was clear of any emotion, his whole posture screamed misery. _You wanted to ensure that it was really your brother they were talking about, that no one was trying to fool you, that no one had simply made a terrible error, a case of mistaken identity._

"I have some of my people over there. They haven't completed their investigation, but there's no doubt that the remains they found contain Sherlock's DNA. His contact in Hamburg also confirmed that there had been a tipoff regarding Rostock, though even he is not sure what exactly Sherlock was doing inside that building. Knowing my brother, I'm certain that he was gathering some new clues and chased after their lead.

"We also checked for foul play but as far as the investigation stands, there's nothing indicating that a third party was involved. I know this will be no consolation to you, but this seems to be nothing but an accident. The building was dilapidated, the occupants were old and the landlord was rather miserly with money. Nothing had been done to the building for years, no one bothered to check if the gas connections had been adequately maintained. The last company that did so had done a poor job, which explains of course, why they went out of business months ago. Still, the explosion was definitely caused by a gas leak, not foul play", Mycroft hesitated before he added softly, "no Moriarty, John."

"Well, that's a relief, I guess", the doctor declared scathingly into his cup before he glanced at Mycroft with a weary gaze. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

"Don't worry about it, John, I understand", the elder Holmes waved his comment away with a careless gesture. He finally put his cup down, contents still untouched before slowly getting to his feet.

"John, I apologise for leaving on such short notice, but I need to... Mummy... she doesn't know yet. I reasoned, after everything that happened, you deserved to be the first to know. Will you be all right if I leave you alone now? Should I inform Mrs Hudson...?"

"Oh God, Mrs Hudson, we have to tell her", John sighed without thinking before he shook his head in disbelief. For a moment it seemed as though he were in a dream and would wake up any second. Everything felt as if he were outside his own body, watching from afar. Mycroft was speaking, but his words reached him as if he were underwater, hollow and barely understandable. Time felt meaningless, while the elder Holmes waited patiently for an answer. It seemed like hours before John realised the other man had been asking him a question at all.

He blinked, finally emerging from his dreamlike state to notice that Mycroft was still there. Not to mention, he was holding a cup of cold tea himself, while trying to grasp the fact that Sherlock was not here to snipe at his brother disdainfully. Sherlock was supposed to be dead, his body burned to ashes by a stupid gas leak far, far away in a foreign country and for a case John was not sure was even that important.

Clenching his teeth in an attempt to get his emotions under control, the former army doctor finally recalled Mycroft's offer to break the news to Mrs Hudson and also his question about John's mental state. The doctor couldn't help the humourless bark of laughter that left his mouth.

"Will I be alright?" John asked rather hoarsely. "I don't think I'll ever be alright again. Honestly, Mycroft? I'm not sure I can do this, not again. I've already had to bury Sherlock once and back then he was only my friend, who in the end turned out to have faked his own death! And now, one year after his return, you ask me to let go of the man who isn't only my flatmate and best friend but also the man I happen to love more than anyone else in the world. Fuck Mycroft, I can't do this!"

In his frustration, John slammed his fist on the table with as much strength as he could muster, tears spilling from his eyes. He'd been so successful that first time, so good at keeping his emotions at bay. He remembered crying only twice over Sherlock's "death"; first when he watched strangers taking away the lifeless, bloodied body of his best friend, still warm but without a pulse, and the second time when he stood in front of the grave to ask for a miracle.

This time though? Sherlock and he were closer than ever and not just because of the change in their relationship. Not just because John had to admit to himself that he had been madly in love with the idiot for some time now. No, that was an important factor certainly, but what had pulled he and Sherlock closer than ever had been that talk, when both of them had laid their cards on the table, building up new, honest rules for their future life as friends, as flatmates and as partners – long before they became lovers. There had been real sincerity in Sherlock that had not been there before his return.

John liked to think some of this had been due to Sherlock's shock at his violent reaction, his anger over the consulting detective's deceit. Whatever it was, Sherlock had honoured their agreement and in turn John had been more willing to be used as scapegoat or an experiment, simply because Sherlock did not do it behind his back, but explained his plans and thoughts beforehand.

And John could admit he was besotted enough that he was willing to go through with whatever the brilliant mind of his flatmate came up with. Their worst case had occurred after Sherlock's return when he'd succeeded in nearly driving them both mad by inhaling a rather dangerous hallucinogenic drug which had already frightened two people to death. Their previous experience with drugs on Dartmoor had been child's play compared to the later one.

Really, he wasn't sure how to deal with the heartbreak he was currently suffering through. This was worse than anything he'd felt before, even more awful than the first time he thought Sherlock had died. This time he had nothing to hope for. Mycroft assured him there was no case that required Sherlock to fake his death a second time, no Moriarty to threaten people dear to the consulting detective's heart.

It was a horrible, devastating, but incontrovertible fact. Sherlock, his Sherlock, was no more. Gone, burned, dead. John wanted to die as well.

John looked up at Mycroft, eyes tired and defeated.

"Go on, Mycroft, tell your parents. I'm sure they need you more than I do now. I'm a grown man, I'll survive somehow. I saw parents at the burials of their children back when I was serving in Afghanistan. No parent wants to bury their child, it's the worst thing ever. Be there for them, Mycroft, they'll need your support. And tell your mum I'm sorry I was not there with Sherlock."

The elder Holmes gave him a rather forced smile, shaking his head.

"I know Mummy, she'll be glad that you weren't there too, or she would have two lives to mourn", Mycroft told him. "She is rather fond of you, John. Expect her invitation to join my parents later this week at their home. They don't want you to go through this alone, and your presence would be a comfort to them."

John nodded silently, knowing that Mycroft was right. He'd met Sherlock's parents briefly on the day he'd finally decided to talk to Sherlock after his return from the dead. The pleasant, elderly couple the consulting detective had impatiently thrown out of his door seemed nice enough. At first John had thought they were clients. After spending so much time with both Holmes brothers, he always suspected their parents to be a posh, rich elderly couple. Hell, he wouldn't have been surprised if they were dead from the way those two men talked about them sometimes, so to hear Sherlock casually mention that the ordinary couple he'd just seen in passing were his parents had been rather shocking.

After he had mended his relationship with Sherlock and moved back into Baker Street, at the younger man's insistence, John had met Mrs Holmes personally. Violet Holmes visited unannounced at the beginning of December when Sherlock had been out. It was at that time John noticed an obvious resemblance between mother and son because her visit had been rather calculated. She'd evidently wanted to meet her son's best friend whilst he was absent as well as invite them both to Christmas dinner.

She had known asking Sherlock himself would turn into a rather strenuous fight, due to his stubbornness. Having been an avid reader of John's blog however, she had determined long ago that John could be just as stubborn as her son so she decided it would be a rather good idea for them to join forces and leave Sherlock no other choice but to agree to the invitation.

She'd been right, of course. Sherlock had moaned and grumbled and pouted for days but in the end he had agreed, especially when John threatened to go alone and simply leave his friend behind at Baker Street at Mrs Hudson's mercy. It did help, of course that he'd also mentioned casually that he was looking forward to hearing childhood stories of Sherlock from Mycroft and mum.

Christmas dinner with the Holmes had been rather stressful, just as expected with both Mycroft and Sherlock present, but the elder Holmes couple had been lovely, and their mother a surprisingly strong matriarch who had her sons well under control.

Siger Holmes, Sherlock's father had been in the army himself and he'd been rather eager to trade stories with John. He had not been an army doctor himself, but he'd still seen a lot of action and he was most interested in what had changed since his own days. John had certainly been able to give him a good impression of contemporary army life as well as a few amusing anecdotes about things that had happened on quieter days during his military service. All in all, Sherlock's parents were absolutely normal, and easygoing, accepting John into the family with open arms.

In the end, John and Sherlock had stayed till New Year and after they returned home John had stayed in contact with the elder couple, keeping them up to date with their life, something Sherlock always neglected to do. John knew the senior Holmeses worried endlessly about both their children, though mostly about Sherlock who readily resorted to legwork if the case required it, as opposed to Mycroft who preferred to control from the shadows safely seated behind his desk.

Remembering the fond stories Mrs Holmes had told John on quiet December evenings in front of a cheerfully flickering fire, whilst Sherlock and Mycroft thought they were smoking secretly outside, he knew that this woman who loved her two sons deeply would take the loss extremely hard. Harder than John ever could because he loved Sherlock in a different way, still deeply and honestly, but not as a mother who had given birth and raised her child, had known him his entire life.

John realised now that he'd become part of this family without even knowing it. Over half a year ago, he'd been welcomed with open arms as a friend and later embraced even tighter when he and Sherlock told them of their relationship. He would not allow grief to consume him so much that he wouldn't be there for the woman who had been so accepting of him since their first meeting. Neither would he keep her from mothering him a bit. He knew from watching the families of his fallen comrades, just how important such strong bonds could be even without blood to tie the parties together. Friends, girlfriends, fiancées, wives, everyone stood together at the end, embraced and comforted each other, no matter what.

It didn't lessen the pain of loss but it helped to lessen the burden, the knowledge that one was not alone to bear it. Sighing, John looked up at Mycroft, tears still flowing, but for once he didn't care. It wasn't as if the elder Holmes didn't know all of his most embarrassing secrets anyway so what was one more tear to add to the list?

"Tell me whenever your mother wants to see me. I'll take the next cab to get there."

Turning around with a satisfied nod, the older man walked to the door of the flat, ready to bear the ill news to the occupant of 221A.

"No, John", Mycroft added in a soft voice, not turning around. "I'll send the car when Mummy is ready."

With those words he vanished through the door leaving John in the silence of the flat and with his own devastating thoughts. He stood rooted to the spot for what felt like hours, the quiet nearly overwhelming him, until loud crying in an old woman's voice told him that his landlady had been informed.

Sitting down at the table in slow motion, he buried his head in his arms and allowed himself a few precious minutes of grief before he had to face the rest of the world.

SHxJWxSHxJW

Three days after the devastating news, and several long conversations with Mrs Hudson as well as Greg, a black car arrived at Baker Street and John left for Sherlock's parents.

SHxJWxSHxJW

John sighed when the sleek black car finally arrived back at 221B Baker Street. The previous three weeks spent with Mr and Mrs Holmes, as well as Mycroft most of the time, had been rather strenuous yet John dreaded his return to the flat, where everything would remind him of Sherlock, just as it had done last time. Even with Violet's promise to call every evening, it was little comfort for the pain he still felt and which he knew she shared.

Thanking the driver for the service, even though it had of course been an order from the elder Holmes brother, John took his bag and opened the door to the silent house. Mrs Hudson was still away at her sister's, he knew. It was he who had sent her there in first place, not wanting his landlady to be alone after she had been forced to mourn Sherlock's loss a second time.

He had fewer worries about Greg Lestrade because, while the Detective Inspector had been just as shocked and devastated as his landlady, he was sadly more used to the loss of comrades and friends. Besides, he couldn't put everything aside and simply mourn. He still had a job to do, to finish as he called it, 'that cursed case, that cost us all so dearly'.

Nonetheless, even work couldn't prevent Greg from attending the memorial service Sherlock's parents held in their son's memory. It was all they were able to do since this time there would be no remains to lay to rest. Almost all of Sherlock's body had been consumed by the fire that followed the explosion. German police, as well as Mycroft's own people, assumed that the consulting detective must have been unfortunate enough to be standing close to the heart of the blast when it occurred. Some charred bones, enough to extract DNA for establishing identity, was all that remained.

Violet had discussed with John and Mycroft about retrieving them so that they could be put to rest in a proper grave but the doctor had been reluctant to agree to this. After the Holmes family had inquired further, he admitted that he couldn't bear the thought of staring at a grave with Sherlock's name on it ever again. It was too painful, brought back too many bad memories and if he was honest with himself, he did not need a meaningless grave with some ashes to remember his dearest friend and beloved.

Surprisingly enough all the family agreed with his decision. Mrs Holmes declared she would bury the ashes of her son in the back garden under the tree that Sherlock used to climb for some reason she never understood other than that it was for an experiment. In this way, she could always look at the place and remember her youngest son.

Mycroft simply agreed and John liked this idea far better than the thought of a cold gravestone. He was sure Sherlock would have disliked that anyway. He had had nothing nice to say about his first burial, which he later admitted to having witnessed in secret.

The Holmes family had held a small memorial under that same tree just three days ago with only the closest of friends attending, including Mrs Hudson, Molly Hooper, Mike Stamford, Mary Morstan and Greg Lestrade. Surprisingly enough the Detective Inspector also brought condolence cards from some of his people including Donovan and Anderson. Sherlock's parents accepted them all with dignity and gratitude.

Now that the memorial was over and everyone was being forced to slowly return to normal life, John decided it was time he learned to get on too, just as he'd done three years ago. Violet had been a bit worried at first, but he had overheard Mary promising her that she would keep an eye on John. Instinctively, he had been a bit offended about the idea that he needed to be watched over by anyone, but in the end he was grown-up enough to realise that he'd always been a "people" person and the thought of not being too alone brought some comfort, although only a small amount.

Now the only thing left was his decision about where "home" should be. The first time, John had been unable to set foot into Baker Street for nearly two years. He didn't want a repeat of that fiasco. Mrs Hudson had been rather peeved with him for not only leaving her alone at Baker Street but also for not visiting at least once in a while. That was really not the way he wanted to deal with grief again.

For the moment, John was only sure that he couldn't sleep in the room that Sherlock and he had shared since their relationship had become intimate. He'd been unable to bear that thought from the day Mycroft had visited with the devastating news. In fact, he hadn't even had the strength to retrieve his mobile phone, which he'd thrown somewhere across the room in a fit of desperation and grief. Life had somehow continued for him without his phone anyway and the bed in his old room was still there and comfortable enough.

Nodding in decision, John heaved his bag up to his old rooms, determined to keep himself occupied for at least a few hours with unpacking, no matter how little he really had to take care of.

Busying himself with this self-appointed task, John barely had the chance to open his bag when he heard the sound of the front door banging open, followed by quick footsteps and then the door to his living room being pushed open just as noisily.

"John? John, for God's sake answer me right now!"

Harry. The strident voice of his sister was unmistakable, though strangely enough she sounded rather hysterical, which was new. Usually his sister was either angry, depressed or, in her few sober moments, cheerful. However, frightened and urgent were tones he was unused to and this was the main reason he immediately answered her call by hastening downstairs.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" he greeted his sister where she stood, not even fully inside the living room. He stepped forward, inspecting her as he came closer. What he saw shocked him. She looked haunted. Not her usual look of intoxication, nor that angry look she sometimes gave him when she thought he was messing too much with her life (which he was not, he sometimes just couldn't help but being concerned for her health), but an honest look of fear.

She seemed to have been in a hurry to reach Baker Street. Her clothes didn't match, as if she'd thrown on the first thing she laid her hands on. Her shoulder-long hair was unkempt and wild, her make up missing and her eyes were red from stress and lack of sleep instead of too much alcohol. When she spotted John in the doorway to the living room, an unusual look of relief crossed her face.

"John, thank god, you're here!" she said quickly, voice urgent as she started to pace nervously inside the living room. "We don't have a lot of time, but John, you need to get out of here, quickly. I'm very sorry, they've found out and they're coming over. I was able to overtake them but only by a few minutes."

She had spoken so quickly at the end that he had a hard time following what she was saying, let alone understanding what was going on.

"Harry, what exactly are you talking about? Why do you want me to leave and who's going to arrive here?"

Stomping forward, finally with a familiar look of stubbornness on her face, his sister grabbed his hand and tried to pull him towards the door.

"I'll explain on the way, let's just go now, please, before it's..."

She trailed off, her face going pale as she stared at the still-open door to the flat. John, who had been watching her in disbelief, wanted to look up, to see what his sister was so shocked about, but then an all too familiar female voice sounded from the entrance that explained everything.

"Hello, Johnny."

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Title: **And Blood Doesn**'**t Count  
**Part: 3/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy Ending  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Summary: No matter how much he wishes for it, John is just not allowed to grieve in peace. Instead he has to deal with people he never wanted to see again and who now decide to force him into something he doesn't want. Can an unexpected friend from childhood days offer him strength when everything threatens to become too much to bear?

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And as always, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! You are a Saint!

* * *

Gritting his teeth in anger, John shot Harry an understanding look, even as his sister squeezed their interlaced hands harder in fear. Forcing his face into an unreadable mask, he turned to confront the two people standing in the doorway with a calmness he did not feel.

"Hello mother, hello father!"

"John", his father greeted back formally, while his mother held out a hand expectantly, obviously waiting for him to step forward and either take her hand or kiss her cheek as he had done as a child. He refused both, only taking a step forward to stand protectively in front of his sister.

Noticing the movement, Mrs Watson let her hand fall before throwing a frosty look at the oldest Watson sibling which her husband mirrored. They both strode inside the room without invitation.

"I see Harriet has reached you before us, intending to spread all kind of nonsense, no doubt", his father said with a disapproving voice. "Well, I'm glad we were able to get here in time."

"Indeed", his mother agreed, stepping forward with open arms and a comforting look so fake that John had a hard time hiding his disgust at his parents' antics. "Oh Johnny, we heard all about that flatmate of yours and we're so sorry. I know this must be a rather hard time for you so your father and I have decided this would be as good a moment as any for our family to finally mend and pull together. We will all support you through your hard times, rest assured.

"As a starting point, how about you leave this...", it was obvious she wanted to say something unkind but was able to hold her tongue at the last second, "living arrangement for a while and come home? Aunt Antonia is with us at the moment, I'm sure she'd love to see you. And she's brought family. Her recently-married daughter, along with her husband and two of his sisters. Rather nice girls really, Johnny."

For a moment, John really hoped he was hearing things but, remembering his parents, his mother especially, and recalling the last time he had spoken to them, it was obvious what she was hinting at.

"Let me get this straight", he said through clenched teeth, his shoulders shaking in clearly-repressed anger. Even Harry inched away from him towards the door. "I've just lost my best friend, who I happen to have been in a relationship with, and not even four weeks later you two show up as if nothing occurred all those years ago and try to set me up with some woman I know fuck all about?"

"Johnny, your language!" his mother complained scandalised, but that was the wrong thing to say. Instead of calming down, he snapped.

"Fuck my language, mother! I'm certainly not interested in marrying, therefore whatever you want, my answer is 'NO'! And now leave, if you please!"

"John? Is everything all right? Should I call the police?"

Startled, John noticed his landlady standing outside the door, her look hesitant.

"Mrs Hudson? Aren't you supposed to be at your sister's?" he asked confused, calming down slightly.

"Oh pish posh, what would I do at my sister's when I know there are people here who need me just as much", she replied resolutely, a half-hearted smile on her face. She stepped inside and turned to Harry, who had retreated towards the door by now, small and intimidated.

"Harry Watson, isn't it?" Mrs Hudson asked kindly. "We met last year at Sherlock's welcome back party, remember?"

"The one Sherlock didn't want to have", John mumbled with a snort, a small, wistful smile twitching around his lips.

"That would be the one", Mrs Hudson agreed, the same smile reflected on her own face. "Still, I think he could've stayed till the end of the night, instead of vanishing all of a sudden, don't you? The manners of that man sometimes!"

She shook her head before turning back to the still-cowering Harry.

"But I digress, my dear. Are you all right?"

Harry nodded mutely while John turned back to his expectant-looking parents.

"Johnny, your manners are certainly lacking, that really needs to change", his mother criticised sternly, her voice disapproving. "Ignoring us and not even introducing this dear lady."

The way she said 'lady' made it clear that she already thought of his landlady as anything but. And John was sure, the fact that Mrs Hudson ignored his parents in favour of his sister Harry didn't speak in her favour either, not that he cared what his parents thought.

"I really don't think Mrs Hudson needs to know who you are, mother", he replied coldly. "Besides, you were about to leave anyway, weren't you?"

"John, this is not how you should treat your parents. We are here to discuss your marriage, as you've already guessed. And we certainly didn't travel the whole way, into this kind of area", his father scrunched his nose in displeasure as he looked around the living room, "just so you can throw us out before we've come to an agreement."

Mrs Watson nodded emphatically. John however had finally had enough.

"I've said, 'no'!" he shouted, voice outraged. "Which part of a two-letter word don't you understand, for God's sake? I took my leave of family business long ago, and you know that very well, both of you. I've never wanted anything to do with the Watson heritage, with your jobs and certainly not with marriage. I left, if you remember, and even if you don't I recall very well what I told you, I don't want to hear from you ever again. Therefore - GET. OUT!"

John's furious rant was interrupted by a hesitant knock from the open door. He looked from his startled parents towards the doorway where a cowed Harry stood next to his astonished landlady.

As if in slow motion, both women turned their heads towards the new intruder who stood timidly in the doorway. It was a woman, around John's age. She was well dressed in a beige business suit, with dark brown hair in a simple plait which was fastened at the back of her head. Some jewellery in the form of a small but expensive-looking necklace and earrings completed the picture, neither particularly eye-catching at first sight. Her makeup was done in the same, understated style, her red lips forming a rather hesitant smile.

"Uhm, I'm not sure if this is the best of times, Lady Watson. Maybe I should return some other time?" she addressed his mother before throwing John a shy look. "Hi John, sorry to intrude on you at a time like this. But I'm sure this can wait until a more convenient, occasion right?"

John blinked a few times, looking more closely at the woman inside the door. She was pretty, no doubt about that, and the years had been kind to her but it still took him a moment before he recognised her.

"Cathy? Cathy Stormhill?"

His face must have shown a rather comical look of disbelief because the woman started to laugh in amusement.

"Hello John, I'm glad to see that you still recognise old friends", she said with a friendly smile.

"Well, I admit it's been ages since we last saw each other, but I should still be able to recognise an old friend nonetheless. What're you doing here?"

John noticed the small look Cathy threw his mother before putting two and two together. Of course, the sisters of his cousin's husband had simply been bait to test the waters. Cathy must have realised his epiphany because her smile turned rueful.

"Got it in one, John. I'm sorry, but you know your mother can be quite persistent. I admit I'm not really interested in any form of marriage, and I don't believe for a minute that you are either, but after she approached me I saw my chance to at least see you again after all these years. I do hope you'll forgive me for taking the opportunity? After all, we haven't seen each other since you joined the army."

Shaking his head, John glared at his parents before sending a kinder look at his childhood friend

"Cathy, you could've come by any time. I'd always be happy to see old friends, you must've known that at least."

"Oh no, how could I ever intrude into your life", she replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I mean, I've read your blog and it sounds like you're awfully busy. I never saw a good chance to just come by and catch up on old times. I mean, old childhood adventures, what do they weigh against all the excitement you've had these past few years?"

At that moment she remembered the reason for the Watsons' presence and she put a hand to her mouth, abashed.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry John. Look at me, not even here for a full minute and already I'm talking without thinking. I've heard about what happened to your flatmate, of course, and I'm really sorry, John, believe me."

The doctor swallowed down the scathing comment that had been on the tip of his tongue the moment she reminded him of Sherlock. Of course, his death had not been her fault, he knew that, and it had nothing to do with his annoying parents either. Sighing he breathed in deeply before looking at her as calmly as he could.

"It's okay, Cathy, don't worry", he reassured her before coming to a decision.

"Out, both of you!" he snapped at his parents before turning towards Mrs Hudson and his sister with a kinder face. "Please Harry and Mrs Hudson, you too. Cathy, you can stay. I guess we need to talk but I refuse to do so with those meddling people in the room."

His eyes turned to focus on his parents once more. There was neither kindness nor forgiveness in his gaze. "Out! Now!"

It seemed for once the elder Watsons knew when to retreat because both of them left the room silently, though his mother still sent a small, encouraging smile towards Cathy. Mrs Hudson ensured that both parents left the house before quietly inviting Harry to have a cup of tea in her flat until John had finished his business with his new guest. Harry agreed hesitantly, following the old landlady slowly after a long last look at her younger brother.

Only after the door to 221b had finally closed did John turn his full attention towards his guest, offering her the chair he himself had so often claimed, back when Sherlock and he listened to clients. He couldn't bear to see anyone else sitting in the seat that belonged to Sherlock, not yet anyway, so he took that one for himself.

John smiled at Cathy slightly. He was sure it was more of a grimace than anything else, but at least there was a bit of honesty there. Because no matter what had happened in the last few weeks, he was still truly delighted to see one of his oldest childhood friends again.

Cathy was just as he remembered her, friendly, polite and always smiling. She did so now, though ruefully.

John, I really AM sorry for my thoughtless blunder just now", she began, taking his hand. "I was so happy to have the chance to finally meet you again, that for a second it totally slipped my mind what happened to Mr Holmes. Please do accept my most sincere condolences for your loss."

Sighing John shook his head, waving her concerns away.

"I don't blame you for not remembering someone you didn't even know personally, Cathy", he soothed her, though his smile was slightly bitter. "I learned the hard way two years ago that the world doesn't stop revolving just because something bad has happened to one single person. But thank you, anyway.

"Now, let's get away from such gloomy topics. We both know I'm not at my best at the moment. But what about you? I have to say you're looking great. Considering my parents wanted to set us up, I can hardly believe you aren't married yet, or that there isn't at least somebody in your life."

Cathy laughed, rather amused now, her eyes crinkling.

"John Watson, the old charmer, you certainly haven't lost your edge, have you?" she teased him with a fond smile. "If you must know, I broke up with my last boyfriend some months ago and to be honest I'm still quite fed up with the idea of relationships in general. I rather like my freedom as a single woman."

"Well, why allow my mother to consider you as a potential bride for me then?" he wanted to know. "I mean, the reason for her choice is obvious. Your family is aristocratic with a good reputation and you're certainly well enough off for money. But you know me, Cathy, and you should have guessed from the fact that I've not gone back even once since leaving, that I haven't changed my mind."

"Honestly, that's exactly why I agreed", the woman now returned, seriously. "I didn't tell your mother that I'm not interested in relationships right now. As I've said, I really wanted to see you, and judging by your years of silence and absence, I suspected that your opinions from back then hadn't changed. As for your mother, I've got to admit that I was in serious trouble some months ago and she was able to help me."

Hearing this, John groaned, looking at his old friend in disbelief.

"Seriously? You allowed her to help you? Even though you know how cunning she is? Everything she ever does is for a reason. If she helps you, mother will make sure you remember when the time comes and she needs something from you. In this case, it's obvious she's using you to try and get me married."

Cathy sighed, shaking her head sadly, but not looking overly sorry.

"I knew I'd end up being indebted to her", she told him calmly, "and when she told me about your current situation and that it wasn't good for a middle-aged man like you to be alone for too long, I soon realised what the price for my debt would be. I really can't tell you the details because it's family business, but I couldn't turn down her help back then and I'm still grateful to be out of my difficulties.

"In fact, I do have a good idea that might work out. When I leave, I suspect your mother will contact me to find out how our conversation went. How about I tell her that you asked me to stay in touch so we can catch up over tea now and then? She'll understand that you need some time to get to know me again. It'll buy us more time and we can think of a way to prevent a wedding without your parents thinking I didn't try my very best. What do you think, John?"

The doctor let out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly with both hands before threading his left through his hair in frustration.

"I'm not sure what to think, to be honest", he admitted. "If I had my way, my parents would leave me the hell alone, as they've done since I left for Afghanistan. But now they've finally taken some action and shown up at my doorstep, I'm under no illusions, this will definitely turn into a fight. One I'm not really willing or motivated to deal with at the moment."

"Oh John, I'm so sorry", Cathy whispered, sympathetically. "It's obvious to me now, how much you're still hurting from your loss. I've never seen you this broken."

"Well, you haven't seen me for a long time, so that's not saying very much", John replied bitterly, before catching himself. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. You know what? Leave me alone for now and we'll set a date for next week to have a serious talk. For the time being, tell my parents what you suggested, if they ask. Hopefully, I can prepare for next week and will be in a better frame of mind to deal with it all."

"Sounds good to me", Cathy agreed with a small smile.

"Thanks for understanding", John acknowledged, squeezing her hand. "No matter what happens, and however bad my mood, Cathy, I AM really glad that we met up again, you know?"

"Yes, John, I know", she replied and smiled again before standing. She handed him a small business card.

"You'll find my mobile number on this", she explained. "You can send me a text message when you're ready with the time and place."

"Right", John nodded, taking the card and putting it into his pocket. Ever the gentleman, he took his time to show her to the door. They exchanged a friendly goodbye before she finally left. John stared after her for several minutes, mind lost in thought.

It was only when the door to Mrs Hudson's flat opened and Harry nervously called his name, that he returned to the here and now. Sighing silently once more he looked down to where his sister and landlady both stood. It was time to move on to the next issue.

SHxJWxSHxJW

"John! Over here!" Cathy stood on the other side of the street, one arm in the air, carefully waving with a cup of coffee in hand, while her other held a second cup. John waved back and crossed the street, reaching her quickly.

"Sorry for the wait", she said and offered him one of the cups. "I hope you still drink it black without sugar? The traffic was hell, and then the fun of trying to find a parking space!"

She gave a wry grin, making it quite obvious that she expected one of the usual macho comments about women and driving but none came. John simply shrugged, accepted the coffee and gestured with his free hand to the other side of the road.

"Oh, don't worry. I was miles away, watching all the different delights that fountain has to offer. And the coffee's fine, ta by the way."

The smile he was offering her must have looked really forced, because her face fell and she watched him uncertainly.

"Everything all right?"

Sighing he waved towards the other side of the road, where some benches surrounded the fountain.

"Let's sit down."

She nodded and they crossed the street towards the benches, taking a seat on the cleanest one.

"All right, we're sitting", Cathy declared, gazing at John anxiously. "Now, can you tell me what's wrong? You don't look happy."

Groaning in frustration, the doctor pulled a hand through his hair, refusing to look at her, instead turning his eyes to the merry movement of the water in the fountain. They both played with their cups of coffee, occasionally drinking without saying anything. Finally John hunched his shoulders and looked up towards the grey sky. It looked like rain.

"It's been a month since your first visit," John finally sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "And miraculously my parents have left me alone after you told them we needed time to catch up. And don't get me wrong, it has been nice, meeting for coffee and lunch. Still, I hope you can understand why my mood hasn't fully improved since Sherlock's death."

"Your parents have contacted you," Cathy surmised, getting right to the point. John looked up at her, surprised, and she gave him a small humourless smile.

"Me too", she admitted. "I'm sorry I tried to hide it. I should've known better and told you straight away. They're putting pressure on you too, I take it?"

Scoffing, he jumped up from his seat, coffee falling to the ground, spilling the contents, but neither of them seemed to notice.

"Putting pressure on me is not even covering it!" he informed her frustrated. "I TOLD them to leave me alone. Now I'm receiving E-Mails, instant messages and even COMMENTS ON MY DAMN BLOG from them. They're quite intelligent enough not to come near Baker Street again, but everything else they're able to use, they do. It's fucking aggravating."

"What have they told you?"Cathy asked rather tentatively. John was too far gone to stop now and he answered her question without even thinking.

"They told me that, unfortunate as Sherlock's death was, it's important I move on now. That the family's desperate, that the Watson line needs a worthy heir to represent the family in the future and with Harry's unfortunate taste in women and drinking, it's obviously down to me. As if my relationship with Sherlock wouldn't have been a disgrace to the family anyway! They'd sweep my bisexuality under the carpet, that's what they'd do, were I ever to agree to their pleadings. I mean, honestly, what do they take me for?"

"Oh dear! Poor John", Cathy exclaimed, catching hold of his hand to stop his agitated pacing. "I can understand why you're upset, believe me."

"I'm thinking of changing my number and seeing if I can ban them from the blog. Maybe I'll tell people I'm taking a holiday, leaving the blog alone for a while until my parents get the message."

"That might buy you some time," Cathy agreed, but she shook her head. "I'm not sure it will be very long, though. Not if I know your mother, the way she talks to me."

John stopped musing on his problems, realising that his friend seemed to have similar ones to his own, and turned around.

"Sorry for being so self-absorbed", he apologised, giving her his full attention. "So, what's my horrible mother been telling you?"

"Essentially the same thing", Cathy admitted. "That it seems you've warmed up to me after this month of contact. That my name and family will go well with the Watsons' and that I ought to start putting more pressure on you, to use my charms."

Grimacing, the doctor squeezed her hand, full of sympathy.

"Don't let her get to you", he advised, which caused her to smile honestly at him.

"I won't, don't worry. It's just not that easy with the debt I still owe her. But this month has given me time to think about our situation and last week I had a chance encounter that may provide a solution."

"Oh?" John acknowledged curiously. "What happened?"

"This might sound a bit crazy, but hear me out first, please?"

He nodded his head, gesturing for her to continue.

"Do you remember Stephanie Stringfield?" Cathy asked. John scrunched his eyebrows together in thought for a moment, before his face lit up.

"Steph? The one with the red hair, who had such a great interest in languages?"

"Yep, that's the one", she confirmed. "I met her last week by chance and of course we chatted about what's been happening in our life lately. Somehow we got on to the topic of men and marriage and she admitted that she's getting divorced. Well, I have to say, for someone in the middle of a divorce, she looked rather happy. I know from experience at work that it's always stressful, even if both sides agree.

"But Stephanie, well, she wasn't like any other soon-to-be-divorced person I've ever seen before, so I asked her how she was bearing up so well. And she told me - I could hardly believe it at the time, John - that the reason was simple. Her marriage had been a farce. She went abroad after she finished university and made lots of friends. One guy in particular really wanted to visit Britain so he decided to come with her when she returned home.

"They'd been good friends all along but there was never more, she assured me. Unfortunately, after his right of residence in Britain expired, his application for a prolonged stay was denied so Stephanie decided to help by marrying him."

At this point John couldn't stay silent any longer.

"You mean to tell me, she married that man to help him stay in Britain?" he asked Cathy in disbelief. "That's crazy, don't you think?"

"A bit unusual, but yes, that's exactly what she did", Cathy confirmed in a soothing voice before adding quickly, "And that's why I asked you not to interrupt me, John. I knew you wouldn't altogether approve of what she did but Stephanie assured me that at the time neither of them were in a relationship and they both agreed to stop the whole charade the second one of them fell in love and wanted to move in with that partner.

"It's taken some time to get to that point but now her 'husband' has found someone he seriously wants to marry and they've decided it's time to officially break up and divorce. You see, John, everything ended rather well, don't you think?"

"I'd say they were lucky that no one found out and reported them", he corrected before his eyes widened in realisation. "Wait a moment. That's your point! You want us to do the same? Marry as friends to get my parents out of our hair? Cathy, that's ridiculous!"

His childhood friend looked down at her feet, guilty and disappointed at the same time.

"But it would be a way out", she finally told him, looking up with determination. "I mean, it's been what, a month since we decided to try and come up with a solution in the face of your parents' insistence? And just moments ago you were complaining that they're crowding you. John this would mean an end to both our worries."

"Cathy, I've never considered marrying for any reason other than love and I certainly don't want to start now. Personally I think Steph took a huge risk with what she did. Admittedly, she also proved herself to be a great friend by going that far, I won't deny that."

Cathy bit her lip before a stubborn look crossed her face. She didn't dare to look at the doctor as she tentatively voiced her next question.

"What if Mr Holmes was still alive, John? Would you have married at all?"

Deathly silence fell. Only the noise from the cars, the people on the streets and the fountain could be heard though neither of them seemed to notice this at all. John glared at the ground while Cathy went back to biting her lip, obviously anxious and already regretting what she had said.

Suddenly, John looked up, his dark look gone, replaced by resignation. Bowing his head in her direction, he admitted defeat.

"Okay, that was a low blow, but you're right, Cathy. I can't imagine ever leaving Sherlock, if he was still alive. But Sherlock wasn't the type for marriage, hell, the only reason he would've ever considered it would've been as cover for a case."

John smiled wistfully at the idea before trying to get back to the topic at hand.

"And God help me, I would've agreed, and gone through with it, so I guess in the end I really am no better than Steph. But Sherlock is gone and, while I still can't see myself getting married any time soon, if ever, this is a different situation. It's not only about me, but you as well, Cathy. I mean, look at you! Beautiful, successful, still young. How do you know that you won't find Mr Perfect next week and then what? Still marry me as a good turn, and then when it all comes out, let your family and friends think you were betraying me even as we stood in front of the altar?"

"But John, I told you..." Cathy started to protest but she was interrupted when he raised his hands.

"No. I know you've told me you're happy being single, but you can't see into the future. I'm not doing something this crazy. I'm sure you mean well, and you want to help, but no Cathy. Just - no."

Sighing she looked at John closely, assessing how serious he was before nodding her head in defeat.

"Okay, I guess you're right", she agreed, voice subdued, but friendly enough. "Maybe the whole idea is crazy but we really need to come up with a different plan soon, or your parents will become unbearable."

Growling, John clenched his fists, eyes burningin anger as he thought back to the last entry his parents had left on his blog just this morning.

"Don't worry, I think it's time I stop the niceties and tell my parents in terms even they can understand that they are not wanted", he said tightly. "I've have quite enough of their persistence."

"If you're sure", Cathy said, obviously not convinced but willing to respect John's wishes for now.

"Quite", he replied confidently, head held proudly. "You'll see, not even a week from now, the next time we meet, you'll be free of any phone calls or however else they've been pestering you."

Cathy's only reply was a hopeful smile.

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One month later, John surprised Cathy by calling her late in the evening.

"John", she greeted him, a bit worried about the unusual time of day.

"They've started sending postcards", he whispered brokenly. "Not even addressed to me but to Mrs Hudson and..." he stopped, his voice failing and he had to swallow twice before he was able to add, "and addressed to Sherlock too."

"Oh my God, John!" Cathy breathed, shocked. "Are you all right?"

There was a long pause where only John's breathing could be heard.

"I'm tired, Cathy", he finally uttered. "So very, very tired."

"What can I do to help?" she immediately offered, willing to do anything. Sighing, John gripped his mobile phone tighter, staring at nothing as he muttered.

"Tell me about your plan for this wedding."

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Title: **And Blood Doesn't Count  
**Part: 4/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John

Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Chapter's Summary: John's death leaves a deep hole inside his mind which he refuses to acknowledge. Self-isolated in Germany, Sherlock Holmes tries to get on with life. But he's not so far gone that he doesn't notice the strange occurrences around him. If mysteries are what is left for him, it's mysteries he'll solve.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! I continue to be in awe of the work you do!

* * *

Sherlock Holmes swore so loudly and colourfully that the mother just crossing the street with her four year old child gave him the evil eye, even though not one of his curse words had been in her native language.

"Also ich muss doch sehr bitten! Und das vor einem Kind!" she scolded, before dragging the protesting boy away. "Komm schnell weiter, Dennis!"[1]

Sherlock didn't bother to look at her, nor did he care about her unkind words. She was just a pedestrian, 42-year-old single mother of two children - the first old enough to stay home alone but too young to look after his brother without surveillance - and currently out of work. Not to mention her younger son was showing the first symptoms of chickenpox, something the mother hadn't noticed yet.

All this Sherlock concluded from one glance out of the corner of his eye: nothing to do with The Work, therefore irrelevant. But his suspect on the other hand, the one he was certain was the right-hand man of the mastermind behind his current case; he had just got away by a hair's breadth after an unfortunate encounter with a cyclist gave away Sherlock's pursuit of the man.

Of course, it wasn't the end of the world. Sherlock already knew where the suspect was heading to, however his ultimate objective eluded Sherlock and the fact that now he had no way of intercepting the man, that was what left Sherlock cursing. Pacing up and down the pavement with nervous energy, the consulting detective took measure of his situation, weighing the pros and cons of continuing the case or dismissing it.

The case itself was interesting enough. Not a ten but at least a seven-and-a-half. Sherlock had already been forced to use his brain to nearly full capacity twice. He also knew where he'd have to go if he wanted further clues. He needed to catch the suspect, Manuel Franke, but he was now heading to the one place Sherlock had sworn to never set foot in again - London.

Pressing his lips together, the consulting detective tried to stop his brain from pursuing that line of thought, but it was already too late. Without his consent, his mind wandered back to that day nearly six months ago when he had come to Hamburg for a simple case, expecting to return to John within days. As if his life would ever be that easy.

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Sherlock's first few days in Germany had been normal enough. Thanks to his brother, he was given a hotel room on the banks of the Alster, the largest tributary of the Elbe and the main river running through the city. Not that he really needed the rooms or anything else his brother had to offer. He spent most of his time out searching for clues and visiting his mind palace to sort through the information he had gathered. Once or twice he called on his contact from British intelligence who was staying at the Consulate. The man's duty was to forward him any news he received from New Scotland Yard which in the end turned out, as always, to be nothing.

The only useful information had come from John when Sherlock had texted him about a drivers license found at a new crime scene, as well as asking for confirmation about the identity of a suspect. John got back to him with the results in record time, quite surprising, since Sherlock was used to Lestrade's men taking ages to do anything. But he wasn't complaining, the sooner he was able to finish, the better. He had already started to become dangerously bored twice during the case. It was a good thing he was able to use his mobile to exchange messages with John the moment he stepped onto the plane to Germany.

When Sherlock had received confirmation of the driver's license and the identity of his suspect, he spent several hours chasing after clues, leaving him with no time to spare for John. Not that he worried. His flatmate and lover knew him well enough to be aware that no answer from Sherlock meant he was on a chase, either within his mind palace or out on the streets.

In the past Sherlock would have certainly forgotten everything around him in the heat of a case, but now he had stayed conscious enough of John to check his mobile phone every time a message arrived. However, the doctor had nothing more important to report. He simply wished Sherlock luck, recounting some of the mundane events at home and a funny incident that happened at the practice. Well, funny in John's opinion anyway. Sherlock often wondered why he not only tolerated such unimportant messages, but more than once he found himself looking forward to them.

Which was why, around twenty four hours later, in the early hours of the morning, and after the suspect had been caught and was being questioned by the police, Sherlock found himself checking his phone for the hundred time for any new messages while he sat restlessly in the office of his intelligence contact.

John had not texted anything after the practice had closed and that was rather unusual. For the first three days the former army doctor had always confirmed his arrival at Baker Street, no matter the hour. But not so on the fourth evening and there were no further messages as Sherlock ran through alleys and tube stations, chasing after his suspect.

Grumbling in anger, the consulting detective had returned his mobile phone into his coat pocket, each time more forcefully than the last, as the much-anticipated message failed to arrive. He had no obvious clues to go on, yet his gut told him something was wrong and he hated that feeling. John was the one who had feelings, Sherlock believed in logic and clues. If there was no evidence, he refused to draw conclusions. Just as he had done on the day he left for Germany, when John had told him of the bad feeling he had.

However, at that moment Sherlock had found himself very much in John's position, that nagging suspicion that something was wrong just not going away. He was about to get his mobile out again to dial the familiar number - and no, he didn't care if he dragged John out of bed in the middle of the night - when Brad Hastings, his contact, entered the office with the results of the questioning.

What Hastings had told him was so surprising, that he had forgotten his silent mobile for the next few hours, instead discussing theories and ideas for their next plan of action. They were still in the middle of the discussion when his mobile announced an incoming call. Sherlock dismissed it immediately. It wasn't John's ringtone and what was worse, he recognised it as Mycroft's though why his brother was even trying was beyond his imagination. His elder brother knew better than to expect an actual answer to his call. He'd never done so in the past and he wouldn't start now.

Mycroft had seemed to be quite insistent however, because no sooner had his mailbox taken over, than Mycroft had hung up and immediately tried again. This happened five times, until even Hastings was no longer able to ignore the ringing that Sherlock clearly didn't plan to answer.

"Holmes, for God's sake, if your caller is that insistent, couldn't you at least answer your phone and tell them to get back to you later?"

Sherlock let out a disdainful snort.

"You don't know my brother, Hastings. He doesn't take 'no' for an answer, if he doesn't want to. Sadly enough he never seems to want what I want. A shame, really. Anyway, I'm not wasting my time answering his call. Just ignore it, he'll give up soon enough."

However, Mycroft hadn't given up. After the sixth try, his phone had stayed blissfully silent but moments later, Hastings' secretary burst into the room, agitation written all over her face, a phone in her hand. One look from her and Sherlock knew exactly what was going on.

"Oh for God's sake, tell Mycroft I'm not talking to him and that's final!" he groaned, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. "I'm in the middle of a case, so I would very much appreciate being left alone, at least until I'm back at Baker Street."

"But Mr Holmes", the secretary exclaimed anxiously. "Mr Holmes INSISTS that you take his call. He says it's about 'John Watson' and it's important."

Sherlock had the phone against his ear before she had barely finished John's name.

"Mycroft, I thought you knew better than to contact me during a case", the consulting detective growled into the speaker, voice tight.

"Well, dear brother, you tend to ignore my calls even if you don't have a case, therefore it doesn't really matter, does it?" Mycroft replied dryly. Sherlock couldn't help but notice the absence of the usual undertone. The one that made his skin crawl every time they spoke, because his older brother sounded as if he was being condescendingly patient when dealing with him. Obviously, Sherlock had concluded there could only be one sensible reason for this.

"Mycroft, something's wrong. John hasn't sent any text messages for twenty-four hours. What's going on? Please don't tell me he's missing when you know I'm counting on you to keep an eye on him while I'm in Germany."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say 'missing'", the elder Holmes had replied carefully but Sherlock was in no mood for mind games.

"For God's sake, just spit it out, Mycroft!" he ordered impatiently. There was a sigh on the other end of the line.

"You should sit down, Brother Dear."

"No thank you, Mycroft, I'm standing just fine where I am."

"Fine, don't complain later that I didn't warn you. Sherlock, there is no easy way to tell you this but... John is dead."

Sherlock had the phone pressed tightly against his ear by that point, but even so it suddenly seemed as if his brother's voice was coming from very, very far away. He had blinked a few times absently and, by the time his brain was working well enough again to register his surroundings, he realised that he had mysteriously sat down in one of the guest chairs.

"Are you listening to me, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked and the consulting detective thought he could detect the barest hint of concern in his elder brother's voice.

"What... did you just say?" was all he had been able to choke out and it hadn't even sounded like his voice. Which was strange. He sounded hoarse and weak all of the sudden, yet he was sure he wasn't coming down with anything. And he was hearing things, because there could be no way his brother had just declared that John... As always, as if reading his mind, Mycroft repeated himself, a bit louder than before.

"No, Sherlock, you didn't mishear. John Watson is dead. Moreover, it wasn't foul play. I wish I could say somebody had been after his life because believe me, if that were the case he would still be alive and well at Baker Street but it was just an accident."

Mycroft had paused, a perfect chance for Sherlock to make his usual stinging retort, but the consulting detective found himself missing his usual wit. It was therefore easy for Mycroft to continue in an unusually comforting voice.

"He saved a child, Sherlock. We have the footage on CCTV. He was on his way home when he witnessed a small boy running after his toy into the road. The driver would have been unable to see the child in time, that much Dr. Watson knew, and he reacted immediately. He pushed the child away, Sherlock, but he was unable to escape himself."

Sherlock's brain had begun to run in overdrive then. He considered the length of time since the last text message had been sent, when John usually left his practice and how long it would have been light enough for a small child to be allowed to play outside. The conclusion he came to did not improve his mood.

"Mycroft, John hasn't texted me since yesterday evening. I conclude his accident happened around twenty four hours ago so why are you only trying to contact me now?"

Well, his voice certainly sounded better. Strong and tense, just as it usually was when talking to his brother.

"You're right, the accident happened yesterday evening", Mycroft admitted calmly. "John fought for his life for several hours. He finally lost the battle not two hours ago, Sherlock. I've been with him in the clinic the whole time, together with Detective Inspector Lestrade. For the last hour I've been liaising with the team I appointed to establish the authenticity of the accident.

"Since there was nothing you could have done, either two hours ago or now, little brother, I thought you would appreciate knowing whether you have reason to go on a personal revenge spree or simply curse fate for being so cruel."

"You know as well as I do, that fate has nothing to do with this, Mycroft", was the only reply Sherlock had been able utter, voice toneless. He was about to end the call, when he was interrupted.

"Wait Sherlock, one more thing! I've talked with John's sister Harry, since she is the only relative he has left. There will be a decision about the the funeral within the next few hours, I'd say. I'll text you the date so do not ignore my incoming text in the near future, if you please."

Sherlock gave a short grunt before ending the call forcefully. Silence had descended within the room. The secretary nervously, but without a word, retrieved the phone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hastings sending her a silent signal to retreat which she did immediately. Sherlock couldn't bear to look at his contact, not after what had just happened. Listlessly, he stared out of the window.

Hastings had swallowed hard. Sherlock could feel the weight of his gaze, but he ignored it. His mind was racing. So much went through his head, but for once he was unable to grasp a single strand of thought. It was like trying to hold onto water, his thoughts were simply trickling away.

A loud cough had finally brought him back to reality, forcing him to face the other man in the room for the first time since the call.

"Holmes", Hasting was obviously nervous, as he stumbled over his first words. "I am... sorry about your loss. Dr. Watson was fairly close to you, was he not?"

"Obviously!" Sherlock snapped his gaze cold. He started to pace, the nervous energy he usually felt when his mind was on overdrive or he felt a particularly strong urge to smoke, preventing him from keeping still.

"Will you... do you need a break from the case?" the intelligent officer questioned carefully. "I mean, everyone takes the loss of a close acquaintance differently. Some people need to talk about it, some need to work, others need time alone. Hell, one of my previous colleagues has been unable to visit the town in which his sister lived since her untimely death."

He had stopped and looked over at Sherlock thoughtfully.

"In fact, if you ever need a bit of space after your... friend's funeral, you'll always be welcome here in Germany, Holmes."

Sherlock stopped his nervous pacing, looking over at Hastings with wide, curious eyes.

"Did your colleague ever return to the place where his sister had lived?" he pressed, just to ensure they both were on the same page.

"After the funeral, never again", Hastings confirmed hesitantly. "We're still in contact, Sven and I, even if he now works in Rostock. Last time we talked, he was still unable to step foot in Berlin. Hell, he even rejected the offer of a well paid and respectable job last year, just because he would have been forced to work in German's capital city. So you see, Holmes, people mourn differently."

He paused for a moment, before adding in an unsure voice,

"I'll take you off the case immediately."

Sherlock squared his shoulders and strode forward, finally taking a seat in front of his contact's table.

"Nonsense", he declared forcefully, his face impassive and devoid of even the smallest emotion. "Let me hear what your people have got out of the suspect. Then we can plan our next step."

"But..." Hastings stuttered, turning red before holding out a small stack of papers for the consulting detective to look at. "I've received the police report from the interview and it seems the next step will be a small journey down to Leipzig. It may well take a couple of days to conclude everything that needs to be taken care of. If I understand correctly, that might be about the time you should be at your friend's funeral?"

If Hastings had expected a reaction out of Sherlock, some sign of sentiment, he was disappointed. The consulting detective gave nothing away, simply watching the other man with emotionless eyes.

"I'm not returning to Britain. Not for the near future at any rate", while in his head Sherlock had added _'preferably not ever'_.

"But, what about your friend?" Hastings nearly shouted, caught totally by surprise. "I always assumed Dr. Watson was important to you, shouldn't you say goodbye properly?"

Sherlock made a dismissive gesture.

"And what good would mourning do for John?" he challenged, glaring at Hastings. "Funerals - tedious events where one is forced to converse with tedious people about tedious topics. It won't bring him back to life, and John knew me well enough to know how I loathe such gatherings. I watched my own funeral three years ago, you know, and it was a horrible affair. I really could have done without one, and not just because I was, in truth, still alive. Now let's get back to the case at hand so I can finish it. The facts have become so obvious by now it's starting to bore me. I'll send my brother a text later to inform him of my prolonged stay."

Hastings had sputtered a bit before finding his composure. From that moment on it was back to the case at hand and John's fate was never mentioned again. When Sherlock left, the secretary looked as if she wanted to say something, most likely some sort of commiseration, but one look in her direction dissuaded her. She had been deeply intimidated by him since he carelessly deduced, on his first visit, that her engagement had been called off, a fact which she had not revealed to anyone at work.

Sherlock had decided that it would be best for everyone if he simply concentrated on cases from now on.

SHxJWxSHxJW

That had been nearly six months ago. Sherlock had kept to his decision. After solving the case he had originally come for, he sent a text to Mycroft, informing him that he would be staying in Germany for some time longer. Then he threw himself head first into the next case Hastings had to offer.

In the following months, the consulting detective had not allowed himself a minute's rest, always running around, keeping his mind busy as much as he could. He slowly relapsed into some of the bad habits John had taken exceedingly good care to break him out of. Smoking was one of them, though it was just as tedious as in London to find places where he was allowed to indulge his cravings. Just two days ago, a commuter at a train station had given him a filthy look because he was smoking in a part of the station where it was forbidden. Well, she should have been thankful it was only a smoke and he wasn't back on the serious drugs yet.

Of course, even if he didn't acknowledge it directly, Sherlock was aware that everything he did was to prevent himself from thinking about John. He had always been proud of his objectiveness regarding cases and victims. John had certainly been surprised, even shocked about his callousness, but as he had once replied during a heated argument, feelings would not help him solve cases.

Yet ever since the night at the pool when he had confronted Jim Moriarty for the first time, Sherlock had realised that objectiveness was not something he could apply to John. Later it turned out that his landlady and even Detective Inspector Lestrade had a similar effect on him, quickly followed by Molly Hooper. But John Watson had always been a special case, the one person Sherlock was unable to fully regard without feeling anything.

At first, it was just respect and curiosity for the man, who hadn't told him to 'fuck off' after his deductions, but instead praised him openly and followed him through the streets of London without question. Well, admittedly the questions usually followed once the excitement was over, but that wasn't the point. That interest in John Watson slowly changed into a deeper feeling of connection, the more frequently John left whatever he was doing to join him on a case. And then there was that fateful day during the Baskerville case when Sherlock had been forced to realise that he now regarded his flatmate as a friend and that this time he was unwilling to let that friendship go.

As a result, Sherlock had fought to defend that friendship, even going as far as to fake his own death, thus provoking John's fury in the aftermath. That had hurt a surprising amount, and not just physically! However, he would have preferred both forms of pain a thousand times over rather than the alternative, John's death. And then the final change from friends to lovers had happened. That one had caught even Sherlock by surprise. Of course he had noticed the signs on John, how could he not, considering his observational skills? And John himself had soon realised that he was as transparent as always to the consulting detective. Which had been the reason Sherlock was finally forced to sit down and discuss their situation.

However, it had been John Watson, through clever coaxing and questioning, who had made Sherlock realise he returned the sentiment. It was something Sherlock had been oh so sure he would always rise above. It turned out to be one of the few moments in his life that he was wrong about something. Added to the fact that he was new to feelings in general and love in particular, Sherlock had been unable to recognise it for what it was. This was one of the areas where John was the expert and he the student, something he usually loathed, but Sherlock realised he didn't really mind too much with John. In fact, he was looking forward to being taught all that the doctor knew about love and relationships.

Of course from that moment on, Sherlock had been aware deep down that the loss of his flatmate, his friend, his lover could never be taken lightly but he had not allowed himself to dwell on the possibility, nor had he ever thought it likely to happen. While John certainly craved danger, he was far from being as reckless as Sherlock himself, if he could help it. Which meant, chances were that he, Sherlock Holmes, would be the one to die before John Watson.

It turned out that he had overlooked something as banal as an accident.

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Gritting his teeth in frustration when he realised he was once more delving into forbidden territory, Sherlock tried to return his thoughts to the actual case. He really, REALLY refused to think about John at the present time. As long as he was in Germany, he could pretend he was out on a case and would be returning to his doctor soon. Pathetic, he acknowledged, but better than losing focus and wallowing in misery.

Currently though, he really needed to focus on something else altogether. Recently, Sherlock had come to realise that there was something suspicious about his stay in Germany. At first, he hadn't cared about anything. He'd been offered a place to live, and Hastings' assurance that the need for space was a 'normal' reaction to bereavement had prevented him from having second thoughts about his decision.

Mycroft had acknowledged his text concerning Sherlock's prolonged stay in Germany and some days later, had even sent him a photo of John's freshly decorated grave along with the name of the cemetery where he had been laid to rest. Afterwards, there was blessed silence, from everyone. Not even Lestrade had dared to tempt fate by sending inane text messages. The only one he had been surprised not to hear from was Mary Morstan, John's colleague and friend.

Mary, with her feisty character, had not been intimidated by Sherlock's deductions about her life - just like John all those years before - and had quickly been added to his small circle of friends. She had been an invaluable help on those few occasions when he and John had had a fight about something he didn't really understand. Mary was patient with him, and if he ever expected anyone to dare to approach him after John's loss, it would have been her.

However, Sherlock concluded that Mary Morstan was still a woman, hardened war veteran notwithstanding. Maybe she also needed time to get over the death of her friend. No matter the reason, Sherlock didn't feel like approaching her unsolicited. He simply continued on with life and Hastings was generous and helpful enough to provide him with mostly-interesting cases.

However, the longer he stayed in contact with Hastings, the more he wondered why the man hadn't tried to pass him on to somebody else. It turned out quickly enough that the intelligent officer would never become what Lestrade had been to him. Sherlock's arrogance, his impatience and general lack of manners clearly grated on the man's nerves. That had happened with officers at New Scotland Yard in the past but they had had no qualms passing him from one to another until one fateful day he had ended up in one Detective Inspector Lestrade's care.

But Hastings, with all his differences from the Detective Inspector, and despite his obvious annoyance with Sherlock, hadn't recommended him to another police station, preferably in a town far away from Hamburg. Instead, he faked friendship (obviously a waste of effort, though Sherlock didn't tell him that), provided him with cases and insisted that he keep the intelligent officer up to date with his investigation. Sherlock mostly complied out of boredom.

Then there was the surveillance. Admittedly it had taken Sherlock some months to notice that he was being followed. At first, he refused to believe the men were that good, just that he had been too preoccupied with other things. When he finally noticed some agents were following his every move all over Germany, he suspected Mycroft, of course. However, he soon dismissed that idea because Sherlock knew the game he played with his brother like the back of his own hand. After the first few times, many years before, that Sherlock had noticed even the best MI6 agent trailing him, they had no longer tried to conceal themselves.

If Sherlock had been in the mood to allow them to trail him, he did so. If not, he had always been able to shake them off, no matter if they tried to conceal their presence or not. Besides, he was aware that Mycroft had many more means of tracking Sherlock's movements than just sending agents after him, and they both knew it.

Therefore, the agents currently trailing him here in Germany, while obviously not part of some criminal organisation, were not from his brother either. Which left the question, who else, with power equal to Mycroft's, had such an intense interest in him? This was a mystery Sherlock planned to solve as soon as his latest case was finished.

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Groaning at the inconvenience of it all, Sherlock finally stopped his agonised pacing of the pavement in the middle of Bremen. He needed to decide on his next move. No matter how much he disliked the thought of returning to London in pursuit of Franke, the idea of leaving a case unsolved when it was possible to finish it sat even more heavily with him. After all, The Work was all he had left now.

Sherlock needed to go after his suspect but for once, he wanted to do it on his own, without his observers following. This would be the perfect moment to test the little plan he had formulated to get rid of them. He had been watching the men discretely for a long time. They didn't really know him, at least, not as well as Mycroft's agents did. Consequently, he was sure that they hadn't yet realised their presence had been discovered.

It should be easy enough. Lately, Sherlock had made a habit of not leaving his lodgings for days, even during cases, pretending to order his information and work out his next plan of action. In reality, these cases had already solved, but it got his observers used to the idea that he might not leave the house for a long time.

At the beginning, they had checked regularly when Sherlock started to stay inside for long periods. However, lately he noticed that they seemed to be used to this state of affairs. They still kept a close watch, of course, but they didn't dare to get too close unless they deemed it absolutely necessary.

Even better was the fact that he had only just arrived in Bremen. He had gathered information about the town before, of course, especially the hotels and guest houses. He had already identified one hotel from which it would be perfectly easy to slip out unnoticed. The key was that the agents couldn't possibly have had time to check all the possible escape routes yet. Oh, of course they would do so the moment they realised where he planned to stay, but such observations needed time. They couldn't follow him immediately into the building, it would be too risky. They had to wait for a bit, until he settled down, then they would act.

It was just too bad for his pursuers that Sherlock was always ready and prepared to leave within minutes, if necessary. By the time they realised that he had slipped their watch, days could have gone by, if he was lucky. Hell, he might even get back to Bremen without them noticing anything at all, who knew. So far the longest they had left him alone had been five days.

Of course, just to be sure, Sherlock wouldn't go directly by plane, but would use the train instead. He calculated that Manuel Franke, who was aware Sherlock was following him, would first attempt to lose his pursuer. From what he had gathered of the man's character, that would mean at least two days until Franke arrived in Britain. For Sherlock, that was all time in the world to hide his own trail from his potential followers.

He wouldn't take the most obvious route through Brussels. Instead he would first travel to the Netherlands, then over to Brussels, where he would take not the Eurostar but a different connection to Calais. He would then join the train for the trip through the Channel tunnel and straight to London St. Pancras. Sherlock even considered going by ferry but decided it would be counterproductive as it would not only slow down his chase after the suspect, but might even give his own pursuers the opportunity to intercept him if they discovered his escape too soon. No, taking detours would be caution enough, especially if he used some of those false identities he had created as backup whilst he was destroying Moriarty's network. Thankfully he hadn't needed to use them, which had kept them secret, even from Mycroft. Maybe, if he was especially lucky, he wouldn't even have to deal with his brother when he crossed into Britain using his false identity although he doubted that he'd have that much luck.

By the time Sherlock was done devising his route and deciding which disguises to use, he had arrived at the guest house with his pursuers hot on his trail. He immediately began to put his plan into action. If everything worked out as anticipated, he would be back in London in less than twenty four hours. He supposed for once he might even take Mycroft by surprise.

At that moment, however, Sherlock Holmes had no idea just how much of a surprise his appearance in Britain would really be.

TBC...

* * *

**Translations:**  
[1] Also ich muss doch sehr bitten! - Really!

Und das vor einem Kind! - And this in front of a child!  
Komm schnell weiter, Dennis! - Quickly, Dennis, let's go!

**Author's note:**  
A little comment about the scene with Sherlock smoking on the platform in the German train station. It is indeed generally forbidden to smoke within stations. On each platform there is ONE area, mostly outside the hall, where smokers can indulge their cravings. I'm not ashamed to admit that the person giving Sherlock the dirty glare could have been me, because, as a non-smoker, I suffer every time, getting sick from the smoke. And sadly there are a lot of people who tend not to abide by the rules at train stations.


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter turns out a bit shorter, I'm sorry for that, but I could not resist the perfect cliffhanger that happens to be there.

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Part: 5/11  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

**Summary:** John plans to get married while Sherlock returns to Britain.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! She even had to suffer through extra hours because I rushed this chapter too much. I am so grateful for your patience, dear!

* * *

"Getting married?"

Greg was looking at John wide-eyed and open-mouthed, shock written all over his face. Mary wasn't much better. She blinked rapidly, as if making sure it really was John Watson sitting in front of her and not an imposter.

John couldn't blame them. After all, he didn't exactly look like someone getting married. In fact, he was sure he looked more like someone preparing for his own funeral.

"John please tell me I'm hearing things", Mary finally found her voice, shaking her head in denial. "I mean, marriage? You? That can't be right. Forgive me for being so blunt, but if you're claiming to be over Sherlock's death, I'll call you a damn liar."

"You're right, of course, Mary", John admitted, burying his head in his hands, "but as a friend, I really hope I can trust you to keep quiet about that."

Greg raised his eyebrows, disbelief fading into curiosity.

"Okay John, what the hell is going on?" the Detective Inspector demanded to know.

"It's a farce", the doctor admitted, his face still hidden. "Cathy's a childhood friend of mine, we don't love each other and I for one can't see that changing any time soon."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Greg bellowed, slamming one hand on the table as anger started to take over. "John, do you have any idea what you're doing? Thankfully, as you're both British, it wouldn't be a crime, but still, why would you want to marry the poor girl if you don't love her? Does she even know?"

"Of course she does, what do you take me for?" John snorted eying his friend slightly perturbed. "It was her idea in the first place."

Now Greg was gaping at him, speechless.

"John?" Mary didn't appear to be as shocked as his other friend, but that one word, his name and the tone of her voice, conveyed as many questions as Greg's outburst. John sank back into his seat, head against the backrest, gazing at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

"I seriously debated about inviting my friends at all. My parents obviously haven't, as the invitations were sent out nearly two months ago and you're none the wiser. I'm sure they think you people are beneath me", he snorted. "That's exactly why I decided to invite you in the end; you are my closest friends. I'll tell Mrs Hudson, Molly and Mike today as well, don't worry."

"But John", Greg couldn't hide the distress in his voice. "Why? Why the hell would you do this?"

There was a small pause, both of his friends obviously expecting an explanation, before Greg suddenly blinked, looking as if he had been doused with a bucked of cold water.

"Just a second. Your PARENTS? Your parents are still alive?"

Sitting up straight, John opened his eyes and looked at his shocked friends with a small, bitter smile on his face.

"Unfortunately, yes, they are."

"There's no love lost, huh?" Mary commented dryly, glancing over at Greg with a raised eyebrow. The Detective Inspector seemed even more surprised than she did.

"And I thought you and Harry had it bad, from what you told me", he pondered. "But if you're not even on speaking terms with your parents, your relationship with your sister looks peachy by comparison."

John couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped him before rubbing a hand over his eyes tiredly.

"Harry and I've always been on bad terms. Till recently, I resented her for her brashness and drinking but... ", he sighed, face thoughtful, "lately I've started to suspect that it's partly my fault after all."

"Now I'm even more confused", Greg mumbled, scratching his head, looking worriedly at John. "There seems to be a lot of family history getting unburied all of a sudden."

"John, can you start at the beginning for us?" Mary asked soothingly. The doctor nodded, emitting another sigh before regarding them seriously.

"This might come as a surprise, but unfortunately for my sister and me, our family is part of the nobility with a long history and a great deal of self-importance! My parents are both very proud of the family name and their only interest is in keeping it that way for future generations."

"Holy fuck!" was Greg's response to this unexpected revelation. Mary smirked at the blush that immediately stained the detective's cheeks. John just chuckled before becoming serious once more.

"Being aristocratic is no fun if you're born into my family, believe me. My sister Harry, as the first born, was raised very strictly. Me too, of course, because I'm the only son and my family is very traditional that way, but my sister bore the brunt of it. You've both met her. Even without the booze she was always hot-headed and she absolutely hated the restrictions they put on her with every step she tried to take.

"I've told you before that my sister was responsible for driving out her wife, Clara. Which was a huge scandal in our family in the first place, as you can imagine. She started drinking while she was still married and I always thought she destroyed everything herself. After all, she escaped their clutches when she fell in love with Clara. She was away from home, she had a good job and a nice wife."

Shaking his head, he stared out of the window for a moment, lost in memories of his childhood and later, when he had met his sister on leave from Afghanistan.

"I'm really starting to think I was wrong. When we were children, she never had any freedom always expected to act like a 'lady', always been observed. Looking back, I think I finally understand why she's always been so envious of me. I've noticed lately, that despite all the fear she now feels for our parents, she still occasionally looks at mother with such longing and sadness. I think all she ever wanted was for our parents to love and accept her as they did me, at least when I was really small."

"So, you're saying she _didn't_ envy you because you've always been your parents favourite?" Mary joked weakly and John answered with a shake of his head and a hard look.

"No, it wasn't really like that at all. Until we went to school, we were both restricted to the family grounds, never able to see or play with other children unless they were chosen for us by our parents. But I was always a curious child, wanting to see more of the world so going to school, getting out of that boring estate, was like a dream come true for me. I can honestly say, the things I learned at school made more sense than most of the nonsense at home.

"But the most fascinating thing was meeting new people, children outside of our family, who didn't have rich and arrogant parents. Of course you can imagine Harry and I went to an exclusive private school. It was just too bad for my parents that even the most traditional private schools still had to abide by government regulations, so they couldn't teach us as our parents would have preferred. Some of the families who sent their children there were much more open-minded and down-to-earth, and I made a lot of nice friends.

"But more often than not, my parents didn't approve of the people I wanted to spend time with. In fact Cathy is the only one I remember them ever liking. As for all my other friends, they were never allowed to visit, and I always had to go straight home after school. Harry was the same. I watched her rebel against those restrictions time and time again but I guess I was too small to realise what was happening. My parents must have punished her.

"Of course, I was punished too, when I started to rebel too, but at the beginning my parents weren't as strict with me, because I was male and still young in their eyes. When I was old enough to grasp that a private school couldn't give me what I wanted, I found out about my rights to choose a school behind my parents back and selected my own High School, with the help of a youth welfare officer.

"From that day on, I was handled a lot more strictly, which of course made me rebel even more. Looking back on those days now, I think that was the main problem between Harry and me. We never understood each other's problems, we only saw what the other had and was envious. I saw Harry being neglected by my parents, as they paid her less attention, year by year. In my eyes it was freedom but I guess from Harry's perspective, I was receiving all the love and attention she'd never been able to get, no matter how hard she tried. As a result, we fought like cat and dog."

"John, what you're telling us here, it sounds like you were brought up in an abusive household", Greg interrupted voice hoarse with suppressed anger. "Nobility or not, you and Harry should have been taken out of there."

"Agreed", Mary growled, nodding her head.

"I know that now", John confirmed. "I did a block on mental abuse during my medical training, but by that time Harry was already out of the house and I was old enough to take care of myself. In the end, I used the knowledge to blackmail my family into allowing me to join the army. They would never have allowed me to do it otherwise, and believe me, my parents are powerful enough to do a lot of damage.

"A good family reputation has always been the main concern of the Watson clan, so the threat of revealing our abusive upbringing was enough. Sadly though, that threat has lost its power now."

"Why are you so sure about that?" the Detective Inspector wanted to know, but Mary looked grim as she grasped the situation.

"If John's parents are that powerful, they'd have no problems making people question their son's credibility. They'd ask why John's never voiced these accusations before, maybe point out John's situation, implying he simply wants to blackmail his own family for money, to improve his situation."

"Worse", John added with gritted teeth, "They've told me in no uncertain terms that they would have no qualms in openly and ostentatiously giving me money, painting themselves as the ever-worrying and generous parents, willing to overlook their child's faults simply out of love for me."

"They've approached you with this already?" Mary questioned, scandalised.

"Of course they have", was the muttered reply. "when I tried to use the old leverage to get them to leave me alone. Which brings me back to my current situation. As you now know, my family is not exactly perfect, though my sister isn't at as much fault as I've always assumed. If they keep approaching me, even though I've told them not to again and again, I'm sure they've been doing the same to her ever since she left home and married Clara.

"Damn it, I'm such an idiot!" John cursed, pounding his fist hard on the table. Immediately two sets of hands covered his clenched hand, offering comfort. It was only a small gesture, but John was surprised to find himself calming down immediately. Their wordless reminder was true; he couldn't wallow in past regrets. That had happened often enough two years ago, after Sherlock had faked his own death and even now, when he was dead for sure, John refused to regret the things he may or may not have done.

For example, marrying Sherlock. Not for the sentimental gesture this usually represented, because he knew the consulting detective well enough to know that he would not have appreciated that at all. It was simply the idea of formalising their partnership on paper. It might have been all he needed to keep his parents at bay because an informal relationship could be hushed up but real proof would not have been as easy to hide.

Determined to stick to his resolve, John sighed, looking at Greg and Mary with grateful eyes.

"Right, no delving in the past, understood", he confirmed with dark humour, trying to lighten the mood at least a bit. It didn't help much, but their lips quirked up in a faint smile.

"When I came back from my stay at the Holmeses, my parents surprised me with a visit, stating in no uncertain terms, that they wanted me to marry and prepare to become the heir of the family, even though, when I left home, I denounced all claims to the family money, title or privileges. Unfortunately, they're now turning out to be much more stubborn than I expected.

"They've been pressuring me for weeks, no matter how many times I've shouted 'no'. I've tried ignoring them, but they always find new ways to get to me. They've written e-mails, sent text messages to my mobile, posted on my blog, even sent postcards addressed to Sherlock. I've tried to block them, register them as spam, even change my number, but whatever I do, they're back within hours."

"Shit, that must be illegal", Greg cursed, already half out of his seat to take some action, but John held him back.

"Forget it, Greg! Remember how Mycroft is able to control the CCTV cameras among other things? Unfortunately for me, my parents, as far as I know, work at the same place Mycroft does. What does that tell you about their power and how much the police could actually do?"

"So you've given up?" Mary questioned in disbelief. "I mean, obviously you're planning on getting married after all and, if I understand you correctly, your parents are even organising the event!"

"Only to get them out of my hair", John sighed once more. "As I said, Cathy, my bride-to-be, is an old childhood friend of mine. She suggested the idea of marrying to keep my parents off my back. Of course, we won't live as a couple, since neither of us are interested in that. We'll carry on as friends and as soon as one of us finds the right person, we'll divorce. If nothing else, it will hopefully buy us enough time to come up with something credible to say when we eventually get divorced."

"That's crazy, John", Marry whispered, shaking her head. "You know that, don't you? And what about Mycroft Holmes? If he and your parents are in equivalent positions might he not be able to help?"

"No, Mary, I'm not asking Mycroft for help."

His friends both opened their mouths, about to protest, but he cut them off before they had the chance.

"Look, it's only been what, barely six months since Sherlock died and while Mycroft might pretend otherwise, I'm sure he is no more over the loss of his brother than I am. Not to mention, his parents still need him. I refuse to bother him with something like this, not yet. Besides Mary's right, I admitted as much. I'm not over Sherlock's death either. This whole fight with my parents all these weeks, has left me feeling tired and hopeless. I still feel as if I've no idea where to go from here, what to live for. That might sound pathetic of me, but it's how I feel.

"So I'm asking you, as my friends, as people I'd trust with my life, to leave it alone for now. Let me go through with this stupid marriage, buy some time to gather my strength. I hope that I'll be able to get out of this shit sometime soon, find real meaning in life again, just as I did when I met Sherlock for the first time. When I reach that point, I promise you, I'll be ready to fight again and I'll be happy to accept all the help I can get."

"Promise, John?" Mary asked worriedly, she and Greg still stricken by his rare honesty.

"Really!" John confirmed, grabbing both their offered hands to seal the promise. "Thank you! Thank you so much for your support. This really means a lot to me, guys."

"By the way, since you've invited us to your wedding, when will it take place exactly?" Greg asked as an afterthought.

"And be assured, we will come", Mary added fiercely. "Even if the whole thing is a farce, you'll need all the support you can get."

John looked moved by her words, though, as he glanced at Greg, his face became a bit sheepish.

"Uhm, this might be a bit short notice but... in five days."

"WHAT?" Mary shrieked while Greg groaned, putting his face in his hands.

"Where the hell do I get a good dress from in such a short time?"

SHxJWxSHxJW

Sherlock Holmes was checking out the entry to Burgess Park from an alley on the opposite side of the street, a dark look on his face. He'd had nothing but bad luck ever since he arrived safely in London. It had nothing to do with his strategy regarding the case, of course. From his perspective everything had worked just as it should. He'd been very careful throughout the journey across Europe, changing his disguise three times and making sure to only get rid of the last one after he was nowhere near Baker Street, New Scotland Yard or Barts.

He'd made good time, as he hadn't expected the suspect to arrive at the meeting point until two days later. Still, he had prudently decided to take no risks and had been waiting and watching the park from day one. It was only because of this precaution that he had heard of the murder which took place on the second night of his surveillance. Of which crime, Manuel Franke, his suspect, was the unfortunate victim. The police were still taking samples and inspecting the crime scene when he arrived.

As the district was nowhere near Lestrade's area, Sherlock considered taking the risk of simply showing up and letting his reputation do the rest. However he decided against it, because in his experience, it would still be exceedingly tiresome having to deal with stupidity left and right. Besides, it turned out that the crime scene was in a very favourable alley. The surrounding buildings were tall and easy to enter. He easily walked up several flights of stairs and used some binoculars he had with him to take a look.

A short inspection quickly told Sherlock that the murder had nothing to do with his original case. The culprit was not the friend Mr Franke was supposed to meet, as Sherlock had first conjectured. Instead, the clues pointed towards a robbery gone wrong. Not really surprising in Sherlock's opinion since, even after all his international dealings, Franke would still not pass as a local. The robber must have thought of him as a tourist, with a wallet full of cash ripe for the picking. No matter the reason, it didn't change the fact that the main key for solving the case was gone. Yet, there was one hope left that would prevent Sherlock from having to start from scratch. The friend Manuel Franke was supposed to meet didn't know about his death. The meeting was still on.

This explained why Sherlock was now standing in front of Burgess Park, watching as his next piece of bad luck played out. He was just about to enter the park to continue his watch for the third day, when he spotted the black car stopping right in front of the entrance. Grumbling, he considered whether or not it would be a good move to simply ignore the passenger and continue walking into the park.

However, he had to concede that he'd been lucky to be left alone for the two days since his arrival back on British soil. Not caring to turn around, the consulting detective waited in front of the park entrance until he heard the soft, familiar sounds of footsteps. Sherlock put as much indifference as he was able into his greeting.

"Mycroft."

TBC...


End file.
